


The Holodeck

by Lady Clytemnestra (Lady_Clytemnestra)



Series: The Missing Piece [4]
Category: Law & Order: SVU, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Beaches, F/F, Holodecks/Holosuites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 22:49:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1203400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Clytemnestra/pseuds/Lady%20Clytemnestra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only part that's from Liv's POV. Hope you like it. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Holodeck

Kathryn is asleep. Something about the sun, the waves, the breeze... It's relaxing. I've missed fresh air. I take a deep breath, feel it in my lungs, on my face. Then I remember; it's a projection. An illusion. Photons and force fields. Like their doctor.

 

She rolls onto her stomach, her back bare to the sun. She won't burn, because of the safety protocols. It's Revere Beach, but it's not my Revere Beach. The top of her suit came off in the water, the water that feels as real as her skin. But it's not real. It's jarring.

 

She sighs. Her suit bottoms followed the top, but that was by design. We'll find them when she ends the program and the bulkheads replace the water, the sand, the horizon. I miss the ocean. I miss the city.

 

I lay down on the towel beside her, her wet hair against my shoulder. Every inch of her body is freckled. I kissed each one that first night. I told her it was like a map, a treasure map. She said, “Like a till”, or something. Apparently they're spotted. I've seen pictures. I'd much rather see her spots than theirs.

 

I trace the curve of her breast with my fingertips.  
“You have no idea,” I whisper, “do you? How much I love you. How much I want to stay.”

 

She moans softly, snorts a little in her sleep. It's cute, the way she cuddles up to me in the night, startles awake at the slightest noise. It's cute because I do it, too, the startle. It's PTSD. That snort, though, it's the sweetest noise she makes. She makes that noise when she's sleeping soundly, contented. I've heard it twice. I've been here a long time.

 

“I could watch you sleep for the rest of my life, Kathryn...”

 

She swats at the breeze on her cheek, then settles back to sleep.

 

I have a theory. I should be able to lick from the scar on her ankle up her thigh, over her beautiful creamy white rear, to the small of her back without waking her if I'm careful. And slow. I sit up, position myself at her knee and hold my hair in one hand. My tongue touches her skin and the salt of this make-believe ocean melts away from her. I begin my experiment.

That first night, I tasted every inch of her body, learned every hollow, hot spot, and what parts I could torture her with-- she's very ticklish. I carefully avoid the backs of her knees, swerve to the ligaments that hold her up everyday. My proud, beautiful fighter. Gently I nip her leg, then continue questing, mapping, tasting, and I love every second of it.

I make it to the place where her thigh meets her buttock (home-free), and stop. She moaned again. I stay there, tongue perfectly fine where it is, until she quiets again, her breathing evening out. I make it up and over the taut mountain, but now I'm feeling daring. I want to see how far I can go before I wake her. I can smell her arousal. It's tempting, inviting. It makes my mouth water. But I can wait. I let my tongue draw a line over her skin, taking the salt with me, all the way to her shoulder-blades. Now I have a decision to make-- double back and claim my prize, or nuzzle her neck?

 

“I've waited long enough-- are you gonna finish the job, or am I gonna have to roll over?”

 


End file.
